


Take You Down

by Seanbiggerstaffrox



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Blood, Blood Kink, Creepy Ending, Dark, Feral Scott, Kidnapping, Knotting, M/M, MAJOR Dubious Consent, Major Dubcon, Mating Bite, Mpreg Talk, No mpreg, Non-Sexual Vomit, Power Dynamics, Self lube, Trigger Warning: Vomit, Violence, concussion, in part 2, noncon, not in a sex way, very dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:07:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seanbiggerstaffrox/pseuds/Seanbiggerstaffrox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Scott’s playing a game with him, Stiles knows it.  He can’t quite figure out where the game’s going though...</em>
</p><p>(Very dark Sciles Fantasy. Heed the warnings.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take You Down

**Author's Note:**

> This could be very triggering. It's extremely dark and fucked up. Just seriously. Be warned.
> 
> Also, title taken from Low by Cracker (which I listened to while writing this.)
> 
> (the specific line is _'Sometimes I wanna take you down...'_ )

**Take You Down:**

The Stilinski house is dark and silent and Stiles can barely breathe. His heart pounds in his ears as he slowly descends the staircase. Scott’s in here somewhere, wolfed out and acting like a raving lunatic, and Stiles doesn’t know quite what he’s supposed to do. He’d call for help, but Scott’s already crushed his cell phone. There’s a landline in the kitchen, if Stiles can just get to it…or he can just try to flee again. That hasn’t worked in his favour yet though.

Scott’s playing a game with him, Stiles knows it. He can’t quite figure out where the game’s going, though – at best, Stiles thinks it’s an odd type of chase. The sequence of events always seems to go the same way – Stiles tries to find an escape, Scott comes out of nowhere and tackles him, Stiles either gets loose or blacks out. They’ve been at it for about an hour now and Stiles is exhausted, his head throbbing from where he’d knocked it last time and passed out (and he’s pretty sure he might have a concussion.) His body aches all over. 

So the front door’s out. The windows are all out too. Stiles had a bit of luck with the backdoor – he’d at least gotten outside that way, before Scott had tackled him into the grass. He earned himself a nice little cut during that one and blood joined the grass and mud stains on his trousers. 

Stiles really isn’t sure what’s gotten into Scott. It’s his first moon as alpha and they’d chained him up, just as a precaution, but something had gone wrong and he’d gotten loose. It shouldn’t have been a problem, but Stiles is just banged up enough to be profoundly worried. And frightened.

Stiles reaches the bottom of the staircase, cringing when the steps creak under his weight. Stiles takes a deep breath, looking around with wide eyes. He can’t see Scott in the darkness – which, he’s learned, doesn’t mean that he’s not there – and the phone is right there across from him. Stiles figures it’s his best shot. 

He doesn’t run. Running will only draw Scott out faster. He walks, though his steps are perhaps a pace too fast in his desperation. As he crosses over the entryway, he feels exposed and on edge, spine prickly with fear and adrenaline and breaths becoming more ragged. He feels like he did in the school – locked in and desperate – but he’s a little less reckless this time, far more aware of just how bad this could go and just how quickly. 

Not sure whether it’s the silence, or the small sounds that break it, that's slowly destroying him, he draws closer to the phone, heart beating impossibly loud and stomach twisting into nauseating knots. He reaches out shaking fingers, inches away from the receiver, when Scott comes out of nowhere, barreling towards him. The impact’s rough, knocking a broken sob out of Stiles, who manages to knock the phone off the hook on his way down. That small, teasing touch of plastic during his descent is the final straw, and Stiles feels the last of his determination leave him as he slams into the floor. 

He lets out a broken moan, his body throbbing roughly from the collision on both sides, and his eyes slip shut. Stiles goes limp under Scott’s weight, taking in deep breaths and waiting for whatever Scott has in store for him. Acquiescence is apparently not what Scott was expecting, because the werewolf freezes.

Stiles peaks a tired eye open, looking at his friend curiously. 

Scott’s head is tilted and he’s watching him with burning red eyes, lips pulled back to expose his fangs. Scott’s body tenses when their eyes meet and he lets out a growl, claws scraping against the wood flooring on either side of Stiles’ body. Stiles grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to convince himself that he’s ready for whatever’s coming. 

Scott presses down on him, hot breath wafting over Stiles’ neck and making his heart beat faster. 

_‘This is it’_ Stiles thinks. 

Scott’s clawed hands pull roughly at Stiles, shifting him onto his back and trapping him under Scott’s weight. Scott’s face presses into the side of his neck, and he starts lapping at Stiles’ throat. 

Stiles’ eyebrows tick together in confusion and he blinks, looking up at the ceiling as Scott bears down on him. His eyes widen when he feels a distinct, unmistakable hardness in Scott’s jeans. 

“Scott?” Stiles asks quietly, voice hoarse and grating as it comes out. Scott pushes between Stiles’ legs, settling against his groin and giving a slow roll of his hips. A breath hisses past Stiles’ lips and he has trouble thinking beyond the swimming sensation in his mind. He shifts under Scott’s weight and Scott lets out a warning growl, fangs sinking into Stiles’ neck, holding him in place.

Stiles’ eyes go wide and his fingers twitch as Scott bites him, his flesh burning and blood bubbling up around the bite. The fight comes back in him and he lifts his hands, pushing at Scott’s shoulders, batting against him and trying to push him off. Scott snarls around his flesh, the sound reverberating through him, and his claws wrap around Stiles’ wrists, pressing them roughly back into the floor. Stiles squeezes his lips shut. A whimper pushes against his throat and his hands squeeze into fists. 

Scott ruts against him more quickly, and Stiles feels torn between the burning in his wrists and neck and the steady pressure of Scott’s cock against his own. Against all odds, he finds blood starting to flow downward, cock growing harder under Scott’s ministrations. 

Scott’s body moves, shifting against bruises and scrapes, and Stiles grits his teeth, vision blurring and cock twitching. A slow rumble travels through Scott’s chest, shaking against Stiles' torso, and Stiles feels the claws dig deeper into his skin as Scott’s thrusts grow desperate. Stiles lets out a slow moan, hardening further. 

Sweat builds up on Stiles’ body, mixing in with grime and dirt and blood, and he feels like he’s sinking, his vision fading in and out. He probably needs to go to the hospital. He probably desperately needs to go to the hospital. 

Scott lets go of Stiles’ neck, lapping at the bite marks. His tongue’s soft and gentle against the incisions and Stiles’ stomach flips, his skin tingling and his breath going ragged. He thinks Scott may have come, because he's relinquishing his grip on Stiles’ wrists and moving downward, nuzzling along Stiles' torso. Stiles lets out a slow breath, eyes slipping shut as Scott’s face presses into his body, leaving a slow, tingling trail in its wake. 

Stiles jumps when Scott’s nose suddenly pushes against his groin. Stiles thinks he may have faded out for a second, and he blinks his eyes open, looking down at the blurred outline of Scott. The werewolf’s between his legs, nuzzling him through his pants, and Stiles lets his head fall back against the floor, groaning when Scott presses his open mouth against the outline of Stiles’ cock. 

Scott’s clawed fingers pull at Stiles’ jeans, tearing them open. Once the material's away, Scott starts mouthing at Stiles' cock through his underwear. Stiles moans, mouth falling open on harsh breaths as his body shudders. Precum leaks from the head of his cock, staining the inside of his thin, black briefs, and his toes curl in his sneakers. He’s not sure if Scott’s intention is to get him off, but the werewolf’s reverent in his actions and Stiles feels himself becoming swept up in the sensations.

His stomach lurches when Scott finds a particularly sensitive area, and Stiles can’t help the high-pitched moans that slip past his lips. He’s always wondered what a blowjob would feel like. He thinks it might be even better without the clothing in the way. 

Scott moves downward, pulling Stiles’ trousers down further so he can lick at Stiles’ balls. Stiles is pretty sure he’s dying at this point, the intense sensation making his thighs quiver and his back bow as everything inside of him burns and throbs. He digs his fingernails into the floorboards, scrambling helplessly to find purchase. Scott licks a long line up his cock and Stiles cries out, hips jolting upward as his balls draw tight, orgasm tearing through him. 

Blinding lights flash behind his eyelids and his body shakes desperately. And then he passes out.


	2. Get You Low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Stiles wakes up on his back in the entrance way, a wave of nausea washing over him._
> 
> **Trigger Warning: Vomit (but not in a sex way. Just general, run of the mill, concussion-induced vomit.)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend to continue this, put blot bunnies know no mercy, so what are you gonna do?
> 
> Title taken, once again, from Low by Cracker. Specifically _"Sometimes I wanna get you low."_

**Get you Low:**

Stiles wakes up on his back in the entrance way, a wave of nausea washing over him. His entire body aches – even his ass feeling sore and bizarrely sensitized – and he takes in hurried, shallow breaths, shifting gingerly onto his side. His stomach roils at the movement and he has to stop, grinding his teeth and letting his body settle before he continues his journey. He has to drag himself, since it seems he can’t really stand, and it’s a lot like that night in the police station, when he had to pull his limp body all the way to the jail cell. He wryly thinks that it’s fortunate he’s gotten some practice.

It’s while he’s dragging himself to the staircase that Stiles comes to the startling realization that he is, in fact, naked, and he wonders just how concerned he should be about that. Given a little thought, on a scale of one to ten, he thinks he’s more worried that he’s naked and very much _injured_ than he is about the nudity specifically. 

With herculean effort, Stiles begins the arduous journey up the steps. Were he thinking more clearly, he might have gone to the bathroom on the first floor landing, where he could have thrown up in peace and then hopefully formulated some sort of plan of action. Were he thinking clearly at all, he might have foregone the bathroom option altogether and called someone on the receiver laying nearby. Unfortunately for Stiles, he isn’t thinking much period, his muddled mind of very little use to him in the circumstances, so it is instead that he goes through the effort of hauling himself up the steps. It’s a slow expedition with a suspiciously low number of obstacles past his own body’s current limitations, and Stiles hopefully contemplates the possibility that Scott might have fled and left him to his space. 

It’s dark still, and flecks of moonlight stream in through the window, but Stiles’ internal clock is telling him it’s almost morning. Stiles isn’t sure what he’s going to do when it actually is morning and his dad comes home, and just thinking about it seems to make everything ten times worse, so he tries to bury that line of thinking. He’s surprisingly successful since just lifting his arms is taking far too much concentration as it is. 

After what feels like hours, Stiles manages to finally drag himself past the top step and into the hallway. His stomach’s rubbed raw and his entire body’s shaking. After a couple deep breaths and a short rest, he starts the journey to the bathroom, making a quick pit stop to vomit in his dad’s potted plant (which Stiles didn’t like anyway and refuses to feel bad about.) 

Stiles is hauling himself across the hardwood when a cold chill travels down his spine and he pauses, lifting his head. He’s not that far from the bathroom, but as his stomach drops and his body breaks out in goose bumps, he has the distinct impression he won’t be making it there any time soon.

Stiles is frozen, eyes trained on the red orbs glowing at him in the darkness. He knew he might have been hastily optimistic in thinking Scott might have possibly been finished with him. He’s prey at this point, lame and defeated but Scott’s target nonetheless. He’s not getting out of this and all he can hope for is a little mercy. 

Scott stalks forward. Stiles can hear each of his steps, the foreboding echoes of each thump ringing in his ears along with the click of claws, and his heart pounds in protest. Adrenaline pushes at his muscles, urging him to get up and run, but exhaustion and pain weigh down on him in kind and he simply doesn’t have the energy or capability to escape. Beaten down and helpless, all he manages is a pathetic whimper. 

Scott doesn’t waver at the sound. If anything, he seems to move faster, and after an eternity and only a few seconds, he’s right in front of Stiles, face still the same old Scott but with something wild and twisted pushing at the edges. It is, undeniably, the most jarring part of this. 

“Scott.” Stiles whispers, voice breaking. Scott moves in closer, rubbing the side of Stiles’ face with his own. “Scott, please.” 

It seems to have no effect on Scott, who licks along the shell of Stiles’ ear. Something in Stiles seems to settle at the gesture, even when the rest of him is frayed and on edge. Stiles can’t figure out what it is and he quickly dismisses it, mind honing in on the fact that Scott’s naked. His eyes drift over the planes of Scott’s body and down to his groin, where Stiles can make out the hard line of Scott’s erection. 

Stiles whimpers, immobile as Scott moves forward, tracing the line of Stiles’ body as he travels down to his entrance. Stiles’ breath stutters out of him, and he’s left feeling hollow and powerless when Scott’s face pushes between his cheeks, tongue lapping at his hole. 

Stiles' lips open on a gasp and he lets his head fall down onto the floor, staring blankly at the space across from him as Scott’s tongue moves upwards, licking a line up his spine. Scott’s cock pokes at Stiles and Scott’s hands move to clutch at his hips. Stiles can’t breathe. 

It hurts, when Scott starts to enter him. It hurts a lot actually, but not as much as Stiles thinks it could, and he comes to the alarming conclusion that Scott must’ve prepared him while he was passed out. 

Stiles scratches at the floorboards, gritting his teeth and trying to ride out the pain as Scott starts a steady rhythm. The contrast of the burning fullness with his other injuries is disconcerting, and Stiles wonders if any part of him is going to come out of this night unscathed. 

Stiles’ ass throbs and he feels blood flow south, filling his lower body and making him feel hot and swollen around Scott’s cock. Consequently –and that’s Stiles’ only explanation for it – his dick starts to harden as well. 

A wave of nausea hits Stiles and he gags, biting at his hand and squeezing his eyes shut. Scott thrusts deeply into him, dick stroking over Stiles’ prostate and making him cry out. Stiles’ cock twitches in interest at the sensation and he moans, hips flexing in the werewolf’s grip. Scott growls in approval, nipping at Stiles’ neck and moving his hands to the top of Stiles’ legs. 

Scott’s claws dig into Stiles’ thighs as Scott pushes into him, stretching and filling him over and over again. Stiles’ fractured nerves are blistering from heat, and his muscles are clenching and shifting around Scott’s intrusion, places he’d never known existed before suddenly sending a rush of pain and pleasure coursing through him.

Stiles’ head is fuzzy and he can’t quite seem to figure out how to breathe, air catching in his throat with each drag of Scott’s cock. Moisture builds beneath his eyelids and a broken sob slips past his lips as he digs desperately at the ground. 

_‘Scott, what are you doing to me?’_ Stiles thinks helplessly. The sweat dripping from his face is joined by something warm and thick and Stiles realizes his nose is bleeding. He rests his forehead against the floor, pressing his nose into the back of his hand and moaning unevenly into his skin as he tries to stem the flow.

Scott’s nose presses into the side of his neck and Stiles feels the werewolf take a long sniff, nuzzling at his skin. Scott’s hair tickles his cheek and Stiles thinks the gesture’s oddly intimate. In fact, the whole situation’s intimate, and Stiles’ groans, hips jolting backwards to meet Scott’s thrust. 

Scott’s sweat-slicked torso slides along Stiles’ back, sending fire coursing through him. Everywhere Scott touches seems to leave pinpricks of sensation across Stiles’ body, infecting Stiles with something slick and poisonous. 

Scott nips sharply at the back of Stiles’ neck and Stiles’ groans, heart stuttering in his chest. Scott’s hands come up, palms pressing against his chest and claws digging into his collar bones, holding him in place as Scott starts to plow into him with harsh, claiming thrusts. 

Stiles cries out, tears leaking from his eyes, sliding down his cheeks and mixing with sweat and blood. His hips are pressed downward, knees unable to support his weight, and he feels his cock press into the wood floor, scraping against the harsh surface as his body moves with Scott’s. 

Stiles barely recognizes his own voice. He hears it vaguely over the harsh rhythm of his blood flowing and his heart beating, but it’s garbled and desperate, and the sounds being ripped from him are almost more animalistic and primal than the growls coming from Scott. Stiles isn’t sure he’s even capable of forming words anymore.

Stiles’ body shakes and he feels himself tense and unravel in equal measure. A familiar sensation of nausea and disorientation presses down on him, dizziness making him feel like he’s spinning and floating in free space even as Scott holds him down, and he knows he’s about to black out. 

Scott slams against Stiles’ prostate, and Stiles feels unconsciousness prickle at his mind. The tension starts to drain from his body, slowly ebbing away as he’s taken over by pleasure and sickness. Stiles comes with a moan, painting the floor beneath him, before he's swept away by the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: The reasons I haven't uploaded Chapter 3 (Aftermath) yet are:
> 
> 1) It's currently at 5000 words and counting which is nearly twice as long as the first two chapters combined. 
> 
> 2) I just had oral surgery a couple days ago, which really messed up my finishing the chapter. And it's taking me longer than expected to recover (so even when I do go to work on the chapter I get, like, a paragraph done before I'm too out of it to keep going.) 
> 
> I'm really sorry for the delay, but rest assured, I am I working on the story and I am almost done.


	3. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for kind-of bestiality in this chapter. Also, sorry for the late late late update. I had trouble figuring out how to end this, and I have to add a fourth chapter.

** Interlude: **

When Stiles next wakes up, it’s to the distinct smell of _hospital_ – sterile chemicals and medicine and something odd he can’t quite place. Past the smell is the sound – the static buzz of equipment and the chatter and noise of people. Stiles opens his eyes to meet a stark white ceiling and fluorescent lights. He cringes, blinking his eyes as the brightness sears into his pupils.

“Stiles?”

Stiles looks to his right, where his dad’s seated. The sheriff’s staring at him with wide, moist eyes, his hair disheveled and his uniform wrinkled. He must’ve been here for a while.

“Dad?” Stiles croaks. He feels like shit and it hurts to keep his eyes open with the glare from above, but his dad’s there and Stiles feels a rush of concern and relief fill him. “How’d I get here?”

He doesn’t ask “what happened?” He knows what happened…well, mostly. And even though he desperately wants to ask someone to fill in the blanks, he has a feeling asking his dad would invite more questions than answers, and he’s not really prepared to deal with that just yet.

The sheriff’s mouth pulls into a frown at the question Stiles did ask. “Scott.” He says, voice wavering on the name. “He, uh, called an ambulance this morning.”

Stiles lets out a slow breath, feeling his ass twinge and his body ring with souvenirs of last night. _Scott’s back to normal._

“How is he?” Stiles asks.

“Don’t worry about him.” The sheriff says. “How are you?

“What do you mean ‘Don’t worry ab-’” Stiles mumbles, brows furrowing.

“Stiles what happened?” The older Stilinski asks, cutting Stiles’ off.

“Dad.” Stiles insists. “Where’s Scott?”

The sheriff lets out a long gust of air, raising a hand to rub at his forehead. “He’s in jail.”

“Jail?!” Stiles splutters, moving to sit up. The warm weight of his father’s hand joins the activity, helping Stiles rise and keeping him steady when a stab of dizziness and pain threatens to take him down again. “Dad! Why did you-”

“Stiles, settle down.” Sheriff says, but Stiles ignores him and they both talk over each other.

“-I can’t believe you-”

“-you’re gonna hurt yourself!”

“-He’s my best friend!”

“Yeah, and he almost killed you!”

Stiles freezes and the echo of their voices, layered over each other as they refuse to listen, contrasts uncomfortably with the sudden stillness. Stiles’ heart stutters in his chest and he finally moves, licking his lips nervously and looking away.

Sheriff sighs. “Dispatch called me, said there’d been an emergency call from the house. Stiles, when I showed up…” Stiles’ dad has to pause, swallowing thickly and taking a deep breath before continuing. “There was blood everywhere, everything in the house had been smashed, I thought you were…”

Stiles looks up guiltily. “Dad…” The apology is there on his lips but his dad doesn’t want to hear it, holding his hand up.

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not Scott’s.” Stiles says, and he’s only half-lying, he thinks.

The sheriff raises his eyebrows, looking at Stiles incredulously. “We’re not gonna argue about this.”

It’s Stiles turn to look at his father in disbelief. “You arrested him.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Uh, you could’ve not arrested him.” Stiles counters and it’s nice to know his attitude survived the night.

The sheriff frowns. “He confessed, Stiles.” He says wearily.

Stiles blinks. “What?”

“When I got there, he was standing there, covered in blood, going ‘ _It was me. I did it. I hurt Stiles.’_ ”

Stiles is silent, head swimming and stomach lurching as he tries to process that information.

The sheriff sits back heavily, looking drained and beaten down as he studies Stiles. “Look, am I mad as hell? You bet your ass. And I thought about doing a lot worse than arresting Scott. But I don’t need to be housing any more werewolves in my jail cells.” Sheriff says and it seems almost absurd to Stiles that his dad’s the one who feels the need to justify his actions. “I’d have loved to deal with this privately, Stiles, but he didn’t just confess to me, he did it in front of my deputy and the paramedics. He really didn’t leave me a lot of options.”

Stiles nods slowly, short tilts of his head that tug uncomfortably at the bruise on his scalp. He cringes and his dad looks at him with concern, but his attention’s quickly drawn away by a knock on the door.

Stiles is more than a little surprised when Melissa McCall steps into the room.

“Stiles.” She says, relief evident on her face. “Sheriff.” She greets awkwardly, the tension between them sudden and suffocating. Stiles wonders just how big of a mess they’re in.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

Two days after Stiles is released from the hospital (judged safe from any serious damage), they manage to get Scott out of jail. There is some evidence tampering involved and a less-than convincing story about yet another mountain lion, but a few witness accounts from the neighbors about how they heard growling and saw odd silhouettes of a clawed creature on the night of the attack did a world of good in selling their account of the events. Scott’s confession was chocked up to trauma and a little light drinking (Stiles may have suggested they had a rendezvous with the liquor cabinet) and he was set free.

Scott comes shuffling out of the jail, dressed in jeans and a gray tank top. His mom swoops him up in a hug and Stiles hangs back, taking in the look of his friend. Three days in the slammer didn’t do Scott a lot of good it seems and he looks tired and upset. His hair is curling and messy, and scruff lines his jaw and upper lip. He looks rugged and unshaven, and Stiles feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

Stiles has been doing a good job of ignoring the lingers of Scott’s touches and the way it had felt to be pinned beneath his friend. He’s been doing a less stellar job of not remembering how it had felt to have a cock buried in his ass, but he’s managed to not focus too much on the fact that it was Scott’s cock. More than anything, Stiles has been tending to his injuries and hiding himself in his room, where he doesn’t have to face the debris left over from Scott’s attack. Not that his room hadn’t been destroyed, but it’s easier to face the mess in his contained space. It’s harder to walk into the living room and see knocked over tables or broken picture frames. It’s even worse to walk through the hallways and see long lines of fingernail scratches across the wood, and to remember scraping desperately at the floor as he’d tried to get away.

All things considered, it was stupid of him to come to the jail for Scott’s release and Stiles isn’t really that surprised that his instincts have flared up upon seeing his friend. What he is surprised by is the way his fingers itch to stroke the facial hair growing on Scott’s face. He’s surprised by this strange desire to wrap his arms around his friend and hold him close – not that he’s never had that before, but it’s different this time, more intimate and sensual. He’s torn by this sudden mix of fear, anxiety, and longing.

In the end, he doesn’t act on any of those, just looks up at Scott’s wide-eyed, alarmed face and says “Hi.”

“Stiles.” Scott breathes, taking a step toward him after Mrs. McCall’s pulled away. Scott stops, frowning, and Stiles swallows nervously.

Stiles isn’t sure why Scott stopped, but he wonders if it has something to do with the way Stiles’ heart skipped a beat. Or maybe Scott could smell the nerves bouncing off him. Stiles glances down at Scott’s clenched fists and wonders if it’s something else altogether, if maybe Scott just doesn’t trust himself. Most importantly, Stiles wonders if any of it is fixable, and he hates that a large part of him thinks it isn’t.

“Good to have you back buddy.” Stiles says and swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing against his scarf. He hates scarves usually, but few of his shirts are high enough to cover the bite on his neck. He has a feeling he’s going to be wearing scarves for a while.

Staring at Scott, Stiles feels foolish. Foolish for coming here. Foolish for existing. He feels stupid and exposed and like he needs to hide, right now. Stiles turns, looking helplessly at his dad. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you later, Scott.” Stiles says, not meeting his friend’s eyes and instead walking towards the door.

His dad comes along, clutching the keys to the jeep because Stiles, as healed as he is, is under strict orders not to drive.

Stiles doesn’t talk at all in the car and when they get home, he hightails it up the staircase and into his bedroom, where he hides himself under his blanket and tries to pretend like he’s not freaking out.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

Things get better after that – relatively speaking. They’re not as good as they were before Scott got bitten but they’re better than some of the days Stiles’ has had since and he’s counting his blessings.

It’s bad when Stiles first returns to school. He isn’t even close to as popular as Lydia, so he isn’t sure how much attention he should’ve expected from his incident, but a break-in and animal attack turns out to be fascinating enough to launch him into the public eye. That, coupled with Scott’s painfully hesitant glances and inability to talk to him, makes it a living hell for a while. But, after Stiles finally manages to corner Scott and scream “Get over it!” until Scott apologizes, they start mending some bridges.

Scott, it turns out, doesn’t remember most of what happened that night. He asks Stiles about it and Stiles tells him Scott just chased him around the house a bit and lightly mauled him. Scott seems to buy it well enough, though he does inquire on why they were both naked. Stiles feeds him a bullshit excuse about how Scott wanted to embrace his wolfy nature or something, and when Scott looks unconvinced, Stiles sarcastically says “You think we what? Had sex?” Scott blushes and apologizes and the subject’s dropped.

Scott apologizes a lot now, actually. Scott’s also really tentative and he sometimes falls into these silent, wide-eyed states, like he isn’t sure what to do, but he makes an effort. And he’s also gotten oddly protective. Scott has started to hover and he’s seemed to have assigned himself the role of Personal Body Guard to Stiles, though Stiles isn’t sure who Scott’s supposed to be guarding him from – just the general evils of the world, he supposes. He doesn’t bring it up to anyone though. Least of all his dad, who’s banned Scott from the house and looks at Stiles suspiciously every time he goes out or texts. Not that he does either very often.

Scott and his dad aren’t the only ones oddly concerned about him. There’s Lydia, but also Allison, and even Isaac on occasion. It seems like everyone’s treating Stiles with kid gloves lately.

Not that anyone really knows what happened. Barring the fact that he already kept a number of details to himself, Stiles swore his dad to secrecy and he made Scott promise not to tell anyone. Of course, Lydia, Allison, and Isaac have probably put the pieces together by now, but Stiles refuses to talk about it and he’s leaving it where it is, unspoken and uncomfortable.

Stiles thinks everyone thinks he’s traumatized, which is true, really. Then again, it seems like everything traumatizes him nowadays. But more than anything and so much worse than trauma is the fire that ignites in his gut whenever he thinks of that night. It’s not fear or terror that seems to be his primary reaction – it’s lust. The memories of that night have started to seep into everything – when he masturbates at night, when he looks at Scott, when he’s just doing something innocuous like standing in his kitchen. His mind keeps flashing to the feel of Scott’s fangs in his neck and Scott’s cock in his ass and Stiles’ knees give out.

Consequently, he starts to get increasingly frustrated with this new, lost Scott. He’s sick of the frown that comes on Scott’s face; he wants fangs and questing teeth. He’s tired of wide, confused eyes; he wants burning gazes and glowing red orbs. He’s angry at hesitant hands and tepid fingers; he wants squeezing claws and a strong grip, maneuvering him into position. He wants the wild, uncontrolled Scott that takes without asking.

He wants the Scott that wanted him.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

Eventually, and far too soon for his liking, Stiles’ story starts to fall apart.

It’s two weeks till the next full moon. Stiles has been counting the days somewhat anxiously, his calendar marked up with red lines and the day in question circled and highlighted. It’s a bit of a compulsion for him now and he has a printed copy of the lunar schedule stashed in the drawer of his nightstand.

Stiles is in the school locker room, contemplating his shirt while Scott changes beside him. Stiles’ bruises are mostly faded by now and he’s well enough to run with the track team. He probably should have been back a week ago, but his dad was reluctant to have him straining himself – at least, that was the sheriff’s excuse. Stiles suspects it might have had more to do with Scott.

Stiles hadn’t really put up much of a fight. Truth be told, he would have been happy not going back to track at all. He’s not a big fan of running – however necessary it seems to be to his werewolf-infested lifestyle – and he’s fine not being forced in any situations where he has to get naked in front of other people (especially if Scott’s amongst them.) Mostly healed or not, he has enough scars and marks on his body to invite unwelcome scrutiny.

“Stiles?” Scott asks, soft voice breaking Stiles from his dilemma. Stiles looks up, meeting his friend’s concerned expression, and gives Scott an uneasy smile.

Taking a deep breath and looking away, Stiles pulls the scarf from his neck and grabs the collar of his tee, pulling it over his head. He’s aware of Scott’s eyes watching him the whole time and swallows nervously, hastily moving to put his shirt on. The bite mark – the most prominent one anyway – is on the right side of Stiles’ neck. By good fortune, Scott’s gym locker is to the left of Stiles, meaning, if he works fast enough, he should be able to cover it again before Scott sees it.

“Whoa, Stilinski!”

Stiles jumps, turning to see Finstock on his other side, staring at him with wide eyes. Stiles’ heart ricochets in his chest.

“Something really wanted a chunk out of you.” Finstock says.

Stiles licks his lips nervously, aware of everyone’s eyes on him. A cold sweat starts to bead on his forehead and his stomach twists uncomfortably. “Mountain lion.” Stiles explains quietly, pulling his shirt over his head. The material rubs against the scabbing wound and he knows it only half covers it.

“You know, I had a cousin who got attacked by a mountain lion once.” Finstock says. “Took a great big piece out of him, there was blood everywhere. It was disgusting.”

“Oh.” Stiles mutters awkwardly. “How is he?”

“Dead.” Finstock replies. “Oh, it wasn’t the mountain lion, though. Heart attack – he ate like crap, never took care of himself. And I expect better out of all of you!” Finstock says, wandering to the center of the locker room as his anecdote turns into a lecture.

“Stiles.” Scott says, voice thick, and Stiles freezes. Scott knows Stiles well enough to have suspected he was covering up some sort of wound. And Stiles has seen Scott’s eyes stray down to the scarf often enough, but they haven’t gotten to acknowledging it yet and he really doesn’t want to go down that road.

“It’s nothing, Scott. Seriously.” He says, turning and staring into his locker, pulling out his jacket.

“Stiles, are you sure you’re not…not telling me something?”

“Not not telling you something?” Stiles mutters, brows furrowing.

“Look, if there was anything else that happened that night…I mean, lately I’ve been having these weird, I don’t know, dreams? Memories? And if there’s something you’re not telling me…”

Stiles turns sharply, glowering at Scott. “You think I’m lying?” He says roughly and he’s mad, really mad. And the sad thing is, he actually _is_ lying, but it still feels like an unfounded accusation.

Scott’s eyes widen and his lips work silently for a minute. “No, Stiles, I just-” He tries to explain.

“Save it.” Stiles snaps, grabbing his backpack and slamming his locker shut.

“Stiles, where are you going?” Scott asks as Stiles stomps away.

“I’m not feeling well.” Stiles shouts, storming out of the locker room. He hides himself in the bathroom on the other side of the school for the rest of period, hunkering down in one of the stalls and trying not to have a panic attack.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

Stiles and Scott hesitantly reconcile with each other, and nine days before the next full moon sees them making their way to Economics. It’s a chilly November morning and Stiles tucks his hands in his jean pockets.

“Here.” Scott says from beside him. He looks over curiously to see Scott shucking off his red hoodie and holding it out. Scott’s wearing a tight, long sleeve, black shirt underneath and Stiles’ lungs stop working properly. “You’re cold.” Scott says when Stiles takes too long to respond. Scott wiggles the jacket and Stiles looks at it pensively.

Stiles and Scott share clothes all the time. Scott doesn’t mean anything by it, and Stiles tries to remind himself of that as a warm feeling goes through him. He grabs the jacket, fingers brushing against his friend’s and sending shocks of electricity through him. Scott holds Stiles’ backpack for him as Stiles pulls on the hoodie. Traces of Scott’s body heat remain in the material and the distinct smell of the wolf is strong and comforting, making Stiles’ knees feel weak and his stomach play host to a swarm of butterflies.

Stiles goes through his morning with a much improved mood.

His good cheer is broken at lunch time, when he and Scott are heading to the cafeteria. Stiles is talking about an upcoming Monster Movie marathon at the old movie theater on Jenkins street when he notices Scott’s attention wavering. When Stiles looks at him, he’s staring fixedly at something up ahead.

Stiles follows Scott’s gaze to see Isaac and Allison. He doesn’t understand what’s fascinating about them until Isaac peels off his jacket and hands it to Allison. Stiles looks up at Scott, whose brows furrow and jaw clenches. Stiles feels his stomach fall out.

Scott hasn’t been thrilled that Allison and Isaac are dating, Stiles knows that, and he shouldn’t have expected things to be different in such a short span of time, but the sad fact of the matter is that they are different, at least as far as Stiles is concerned. Things have changed, and this sudden flood of jealousy and disappointment working its way through him is an entirely unwelcome symptom of that.

Stiles, feeling suddenly irritated, shrugs out of Scott’s hoodie. “Here.” Stiles says, handing it back to him. Scott looks down at the jacket and frowns in confusion.

“I’m good.” Stiles mutters. After a beat, Scott takes the sweater back, and Stiles starts walking, taking hurried steps that carry him farther away from the wolf.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

The closer it gets to the full moon, the worse things get for Stiles.

It starts at the Monster Movie marathon on Jenkins street, which Stiles actually does go to - _alone_ because Scott actually has a life and Stiles kind of really doesn’t. Stiles is surprisingly glad for the break though, because being around Scott is massively frustrating and Stiles is really starting to appreciate his own company.

The first movie to premiere is _20,000 Leagues under the Sea,_ much to Stiles’ relief. He’d been nervous, going to a Monster Movie marathon when his best friend’s a monster, but giant squids he can deal with. Stiles relaxes, which is really his first mistake.

He’s about half an hour into the film when there’s a distinct feeling like he’s being watched, a sort of prickling on the back of his scalp that has Stiles reaching back and rubbing at his hair, trying to alleviate the sensation. The tips of fingers join him, tracing against the back of his hand and Stiles jumps, turning around to face the subsequent seat. The theater isn’t very crowded, people sprinkled in odd groups throughout the dark room, and the row behind him has been sorely neglected, occupied only by an elderly man all the way at the end, far out of reach of Stiles.

Stiles stares at the empty space and frowns. The chair doesn’t fill during his observation and Stiles mentally shakes himself, turning back to face the screen. With a significantly damper mood, he sinks lower in his chair and tries to focus on the film.

Time passes and the room grows chillier, motivating Stiles to unroll the sleeves of his plaid shirt before crossing his arms, hugging his torso to keep the cold at bay. In the world of the movie, the squid begins its attack, tentacles flinging water as its arms snake around the sailors. Stiles jumps, reaching a hand up to wipe at a droplet that lands on his cheek. With a frown, he stares down at the moisture that comes away.

Dread pools in his gut, the darkness of the Nemeton thrumming inside of him.

The echo of fingertips brushes against Stiles’ neck and his head snaps up, eyes widening as he takes in the theater. Or, rather, what used to be the theater. What he finds now is nothing but trees. Thunder rumbles and a drop of rain falls onto Stiles.

He shifts, mud and leaves moving beneath his hands as he pushes himself upward. He looks to the silhouette of branches above him, sparse bits of night sky barely visible in the darkness of the woods. He doesn’t recognize the area specifically – one bit of forest is just as good as any other – but he’s sure he must be somewhere on the preserve.

Stiles can barely see the space right in front of him and he fumbles in his pocket for his cell phone, frowning in frustration when he comes up empty. Hesitantly, he steps forward, twigs snapping underfoot and branches protesting against his hands as he pushes them aside, advancing through the woods. The trees grip at him, clawing into his clothes and trying to hold him back. Thunder rumbles again and the rain comes down harder, drenching Stiles’ hair and soaking into his clothes.

Stiles slips on a hidden incline, falling between the trees and down a small hill. Mud collects on his trousers, and his fingers scramble to find purchase in the dirt as he slides over rocks and sticks. Coming to a stop at the bottom of the slope, Stiles takes a deep breath, leaning his head back against the ground behind him and trying to gather his bearings. A deep rumble fills the forest again, closer this time, and Stiles’ stomach gives in to icy fear as his eyes snap open. It’s not thunder at all, he realizes.

Stiles’ heart hammers. He lifts his head, looking backward to meet glowing red eyes. A black wolf – or, not quite a wolf, but an alpha, like Peter – is hunched at the top of the hill, salivating as it growls down at Stiles.

“Scott?” Stiles asks.

The creature snaps, lurching forward and sending Stiles shooting to his feet. Stiles is fast, when he has the adrenaline rush moving him forward, but a wolf’s faster, so he doesn’t expect to get very far. The wolf keeps a steady pace behind him though, like he’s not actually attempting to catch Stiles – not yet, at least.

Mud splatters up around his feet and the impact of each stride echoes inside his legs, darting up through his thighs and sneaking its way into his lungs, gripping them roughly. Stiles can’t breathe and his body burns. As he runs, pushing his way through the forest growth, branches tear into his arms and face, leaving stinging flesh behind. He can feel the heated rush of blood that bubbles up in the aftermath of each swipe, and he’s sure his clothes must be torn, given the fresh chill of air that seems to brush directly over him in places.

Stiles can’t make much out in the dark – he thinks it’s instinct more than anything that’s allowed him to maneuver so quickly this far – but he can see well enough to spot the house the comes up in the distance. There are no lights on and Stiles isn’t sure anyone’s home, but he’s driven towards it anyway.

Stiles knows he’s running, knows he’s running fast – he can feel it in his lungs and his legs, in the strain that pulls at his muscles and the sweat that rolls down his brow. But, with time growing on and his body becoming fatigued, he doesn’t feel like he’s actually running anywhere. The house still stays a steady pace in front of him and the alpha stays a steady pace behind him, and Stiles feels like he’s stomping over the same space in an endless loop. He stumbles to a stop, staring dazedly at the house in the distance, which grows further and further away from him.

Hot breath hits the back of his neck, accompanied by a quiet, almost inaudible, snarl that sends thrills rippling through him. Stiles is sure it’s fear he’s feeling – it has to be fear – but the tickle of fur against his neck and the promise beneath it has his eyes fluttering shut and his nerves tingling.

“ _Stiles.”_ It’s Scott’s voice, husky and low, _wolfen_ , and suddenly something all too human presses against Stiles’ back. He starts, ready to turn, but fingers dig into his hair, pulling roughly and holding him steady, keeping him focused ahead where the scene shifts.

Stiles’ eyes open wide and he stiffens, air evaporating from his lungs. The sight before him is strange, a sure sign that this isn’t real, because he’s staring at himself. The him that’s not him is laid out on top of the Nemeton, naked as the day he was born and writhing in pleasure from where he’s trapped under the alpha.

“ _Oh_.” This other Stiles lets out a throaty noise of delight, baring his throat and arching into the alpha’s thrusts. _Scott’s_ thrusts, Stiles reminds himself, because that is most definitely his best friend, wolfed out and untamed.

Scott’s brutal, slamming forward in rough, inhuman motions, claws digging into other Stiles’ body, drawing blood and ripping flesh. The alpha snarls and bites, tearing into the phantom’s neck and pulling out a pleasured moan. And other Stiles just takes it, face blissed out and body seemingly immune to the damage being done to him.

Stiles’ heartbeat quickens, a quiet thunder in the storm brewing inside him. His fingers twitch, practically leaping from their sockets with the desire to touch, to feel, to be right there on that godforsaken tree trunk, having the living daylights fucked out of him in the worst way possible. God, Stiles wants, and it’s terrifying.

“Scott.” He whispers, voice catching on desperation and fear. Fingers clutch at his hips and it’s only then that Stiles realizes he was rocking them, and fuck, he’s hard.

“ _Full moon’s coming.”_ Scott hisses, lips caressing his ear.

Stiles shudders, goose bumps breaking out over his skin and fire igniting in his gut. It’s a confusing duality and Stiles is growing frustrated trying to make sense of it. He can’t figure out this line between fear and arousal and he wishes someone would just take already. He doesn’t want to have to figure it out, he doesn’t want to have to think about it, he just wants someone – he wants _Scott_ \- to rip the thought process away from him and just take whatever’s wanted, whatever Stiles can give and more, because Stiles has never been good at sticking to his limits anyway and he’ll bounce back pretty easily.

He wants exactly what’s happening right in front of him and he absolutely loathes himself for it. He loathes Scott for it too, because Scott’s the one who did this to him.

“ _Stiles?”_

Stiles frowns, an unfamiliar voice echoing in the distance.

“ _Stiles_?”

A sudden anxiety breaks out over him and Stiles tries to clutch at this moment, at Scott holding him in place, at the moans coming from the Nemeton, at the dark vow circling them, but the dream trickles through his fingertips and Stiles wakes up in the theater, _Godzilla_ on the screen and a surprised looking Allison staring down at him, a hand on his shoulder. Stiles can see Isaac hovering behind her and ignores the bitter stab that goes through him at their happiness.

Not that they look particularly happy now. Allison’s regarding him with some concern and Isaac looks pretty put out.

“You were having a nightmare.” Allison explains at Stiles’ questioning look.

“Thanks.” Stiles mutters, wiping a hand over his face. Allison steps away from him and eyes the seat beside him contemplatively. “Uh, what are you guys doing here?” Stiles asks, trying for polite conversation.

Allison and Isaac exchange an awkward glance. Date night, Stiles guesses.

“Monster movies.” Isaac shrugs.

Stiles nods and chews his lip awkwardly. “Well, uh, I’m gonna go.” He mutters, standing from his seat.

“Oh. Okay.” Allison mumbles, like she wants to protest but she’s holding back. “Um…goodnight, Stiles.” She says softly, and Stiles doesn’t like the undertone to her voice, like she’s trying to puzzle something out.

Stiles throws his hand out in a wave and makes his way out of the movie theater. He hurries through the lobby and out into the dimly lit street. A gust of cold night air blows over him and he shivers, crossing his arms and hunching down as he stands on the sidewalk, looking out and trying to remember where he parked his jeep.

Stiles tells himself he imagines the red eyes that glow from across the street. They’re only there for a split second before disappearing, and Stiles is having enough trouble containing the emotional hurricane destroying him, so he turns and makes his way to his car. Keeping his panic attack at bay, he tries not to think too hard about the prickling sensation on his neck or the way he’s sure he’s being followed.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

Four days before the full moon, Stiles ends up at Jungle. He stands on the edge of the crowd, dazed and disconnected, watching the flashing lights and the amorphous shape of bodies grinding together. He doesn’t pick out individual faces – can’t really distinguish one from the other – and he feels like a spectator in a dream, reality fraying at the edges and music fading into the background as he looks at the scene through a fog.

Stiles feels like he’s drunk as he takes slow steps forward, not sure where he’s going. He thinks someone talks to him and he must talk back, because next thing he knows, he’s being led to the bathrooms by a tall, handsome man. Stiles finds himself pressed up against a bathroom stall with a hot mouth biting at his lips and it’s only then that his mind comes back to him, razor sharp focus as he presses into the touch, tearing at the other man’s clothes desperately.

“Eager.” The man says, chuckling.

Stiles doesn’t respond, just pulls the man’s shirt up, watching fervently as muscled flesh comes into view. He runs his fingers down the man’s abdomen, taking in the surreal sight of his hand against someone else’s body. The skin’s warm under his palm, and Stiles licks his lips nervously, head tilting when the man’s mouth presses slow kisses against his neck.

It’s nice, sort of – tender – and Stiles feels something in him respond favourably to that. Except it’s all wrong, because Stiles is in a public restroom with a stranger and he’s burning with need but he can’t fucking get it up, because it’s not enough.

Stiles presses closer, feeling the long line of the man’s hard cock press into his hip. Stiles wonders if he should reach down and touch it, or if maybe he should place his hands elsewhere. The other guy seems to know what he’s doing, confident fingers stroking down to his butt and groping his ass cheeks, and Stiles isn’t sure what to do with himself. He feels too free in his movements. He can touch and squeeze and grab and the thought should be exhilarating, but it just makes him frustrated.

“Stop.” Stiles says and he hates that he’s disappointed when the guy actually listens.

“What’s wrong?” The man asks.

Stiles’ stomach twists in his chest and he can barely look into the stranger’s eyes when he asks “Can you just…hold me down, or something?”

The man’s eyebrow arches. “Hold you down?” He echoes unsteadily. “Uh, yeah, sure.” He says, tentatively gripping Stiles’ shoulders.

Stiles shakes his head. “My hands.” He says, pressing his wrists together and holding his arms out toward the man.

“Okay.” The guy wraps his fingers around Stiles’ wrists and presses them over his head. “Like this?” He asks softly.

The hold isn’t strong enough, not nearly, but Stiles isn’t sure he wants to risk asking for more. He nods his head and holds his breath as the man leans in to kiss him. It’s a nice kiss, as far as kisses go. It’s gentle, with smooth lips and a soft tongue, but Stiles doesn’t want gentle – he can’t handle gentle.

The man’s lips move from his mouth to his jaw, following the skin downwards to suck lightly at Stiles’ neck. Stiles still can’t get it up and his skin crawls, barely containing all the unfulfilled want and desperation boiling just under the surface.

“Would you, uh…can you bite me?” Stiles asks. The man pauses and Stiles can feel his mouth twist into a frown.

Stiles’ body goes tight with anxiety in the moment it takes the guy to consider the question, but the press of teeth into his skin offers some relief.

“Harder.” Stiles says, because the man’s teeth are right there and Stiles needs this so badly, but the man pulls his mouth away and Stiles feels the world crash down around his feet.

The stranger studies him for a moment, gaze intense and questioning, before he lets out a sigh. He lets go of Stiles and backs up.

“What-” Stiles starts, straightening as the man goes to pick up his shirt. The air in front of Stiles suddenly feels so cold and he itches, bursting at the seams.

“Look, I’m not really into the kinky pain stuff.” The man says regretfully. “I think I should go.”

Stiles tries to protest, but it falls on deaf ears as the guy pushes his way out of the stall, t-shirt in hand. Stiles’ head falls back against the wall behind him and he dismally listens to the bathroom door fall shut.

“Dammit.” He curses, frustration welling inside of him. Energized by anger, he punches the stall wall, clenching his jaw against the pain that flares up in his knuckles. “Dammit!” He curses again.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

The next full moon is on a Thursday, which is bad luck for Stiles, because it means he’s actually going to have to see Scott, being it’s a school day. He spends the week leading up to it totally on edge, plagued by dreams and a weird fever that won’t seem to leave him. Every time Scott touches him – and maybe it’s just in Stiles’ mind, but it appears to be happening more frequently than usual – Stiles’ whole body tingles and phantom lingers from the last full moon reverberate through him.

He curses his luck that the full moon couldn’t have happened on a Saturday, so he could have hidden in his room and pretended like it wasn’t _anticipation_ he was feeling.

Stiles enters the school on the day in question, heart pounding in his ears and hands shaking ever so slightly. He wonders if it’s obvious that he spent last night dreaming about being chased down and mauled in the woods - if the imaginary claws around his neck and the dick plowing into him left any sort of trace. He spent all morning scrubbing himself clean, but he wonders, in a sort of paranoid fashion, if Scott will still be able to smell the sleep orgasm he’d had.

Stiles tries to ease the tension before he gets to his locker, but the harder he tries, the more tense he gets, and by the time he sets eyes on Scott, he’s a wreck. Scott attempts to smile at him, but it quickly turns into a cautious, concerned look.

“Stiles…” Scott starts and Stiles opens his locker, using it to shield his face.

“Can we not?” He says, reaching in for his textbook. “I’m fine, okay?”

Scott sighs, moving around the locker door and peering at Stiles seriously. “I’m gonna be at Derek’s tonight.” He says.

Stiles turns around sharply, staring at his friend in shock. “What?”

Scott shrugs. “He said he’d watch me, make sure I don’t do anything. Just…I thought you should know.”

“Oh.” Stiles says, feeling oddly letdown. He turns away from Scott and rifles through his locker. “Did you do the homework?” He asks, changing the subject.

Scott goes with it, and Stiles takes a deep breath, hoping to get his hands to stop shaking before Scott gets really worried.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

By the time the moon rises, Stiles is holed up in the shower, three fingers buried inside his ass and cock leaking pre-cum onto the stall floor.

He’s the only one in the house. By grace or good fortune, his dad got called away on a break-in and, after Stiles informed him of the Scott-Derek situation, the sheriff had dropped the concerned glances and felt comfortable enough leaving Stiles alone. Stiles counts himself supremely lucky that his dad hadn’t tried to send him over to their neighbor’s house for minding (like he’d done the last three times he’d gotten called away.) Stiles is 17 and, events of the last full moon notwithstanding, he’s too old for that nonsense. (Plus it’s always unbearably awkward sitting in Mrs. Grady’s kitchen trying to make conversation over stale peanut brittle.)

It’s doubly fortunate, because Stiles has been a walking hard-on all day. He’s been burning, aching with it, and all he can think of is Scott’s cock buried in his ass and that damned dream. Not the dream from this morning or the one before that, or really any of the ones that have been haunting his bedroom since the events of the last full moon. All the can think about is that one from the movie theater, of seeing himself, wanton and shameless beneath a fully wolfed-out Scott. His memories from the last full moon are too tenuous to fully grasp on to, as much as they torment him, but the dream had been crystal clear, and if Stiles tries hard enough, he can get back there.

Stiles is rough where he touches himself, anger and masochism translating into harsh gestures. His entrance protests around the fingers he buries deep inside, but he doesn’t care, gritting his teeth through it rather than slow his actions. The pulsating need to get fucked rocks through him and he slams into his hole, other hand clawing at the shower wall as he whimpers. He rests his head against the tiles, feeling the water cascade down his back and coat his fingers, mixing in with lube and sweat.

It’s not enough – hasn’t been enough for weeks – and Stiles groans in frustration. He tries to pretend Scott’s there with him, a hand on his hip and breath hot against his neck. He moans Scott’s name, mentally begging the wolf to take him, and when he relinquishes his hold on the wall and reaches down to take himself in hand, he pretends it’s Scott’s palm around his dick. He’s overly aware that it’s his own hand though, because the grip’s rough and hasty and he’s not sure how Scott would stroke him, but it’s got to be better than the needy, desperate way he does it to himself. His orgasm brings little relief and Stiles sighs, damning Scott in his mind. He’s given up telling himself that it’s not Scott’s fault.

Stiles finishes showering and throws on his pajamas. It’s going to be a long, dissatisfying night.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

Scott never shows up. Stiles paces and begs and hates himself for it, and Scott never shows up. Stiles tries not to be angry.


	4. Anchor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to add new warnings to the story. This ending's pretty creepy, but whatever. 
> 
> Warnings: Kidnapping. Weird mpreg dirty talk for a little bit. (No actual mpreg.)

** Anchor: **

Things start getting _weird_. Stiles’ body starts to change. He gets hot flashes and his chest becomes tender. When he masturbates, he notices a strange sort of wetness at his backend. He’s keyed up practically 24/7, so sensitive that his whole body’s like a livewire.

It doesn’t help that Scott always seems to be in his space. He touches him more and Stiles could swear that his eyes flash red every once in a while. Maybe Stiles is just crazy. He certainly feels it.

His world’s operating on a tilt and he struggles to cling on, feeling like he’ll lose it all with the slightest shift. But everything seems to be conspiring against him, trying to send his fragile hold on reality crashing down. Especially Scott, who leans against him more often and whispers conversation in his ear. Stiles thinks he might explode.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

“Dude, you alright?” Scott asks over lunch.

“I’m fine.” Stiles says. He’s started sleepwalking. He thinks he should be more worried about it than he actually is, but it’s better than waking up with a hard-on and his friend’s name on his lips. Not that he doesn’t do that too, but fortunately it’s not at the same time and frankly he prefers the sleepwalking. He scratches his arm, feeling a prickling itch under his skin.

“Really? Because you don’t seem fine.” Scott says.

Stiles huffs, spearing a chicken nugget with his fork. “What do you want me to say, Scott?” He snaps.

“I just want to help.” Scott says.

“Then shut up.” Stiles takes a defiant bite of his lunch, glaring at his best friend.

Scott looks down sadly and Stiles almost feels bad. Almost.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

A few days later, Stiles is in the alleyway behind Jungle, presenting his ass for some guy. He’s desperate for it, wants it like he’s never wanted anything before in his life. He needs to feel full.

The guy lets out a surprised noise when he pulls Stiles’ pants down and sees the wetness. Stiles comes up with a lie, says he lubed himself up already. He tells the guy to just fuck him and the man smirks, responding with some ridiculous dirty talk that Stiles doesn’t pay any attention to. He doesn’t want to talk to this guy. Doesn’t even want to fuck him really, he just wants to get filled up and this man will do it for him. They can skip the niceties and the foreplay and the talking part. He just needs a dick.

The guy’s pulling on a condom and Stiles waits with bated breath. He’s about to slide in, so close that Stiles can feel the heat pulsing off of him, when there’s a growl from the end of the alleyway.

Stiles stiffens.

“What the f-” The guy starts and then he’s screaming, getting dragged away by a furious alpha. Scott snarls out a warning and pushes the guy away. Stiles reaches back, pulling his jeans up and staring at Scott with wide eyes.

The alpha rises up, holding his hands at his sides and baring his teeth at Stiles, advancing forward in predatory movements.

“Scott?” Stiles says, heart pounding in his chest. His fly’s still open but he’s too preoccupied with the wolf in front of him to fix it.

Scott lets out a rumble, stepping forward until he’s in Stiles’ space. He pushes the teen back into the wall, pressing his face into Stiles’ neck, sniffing him and growling in irritation. “You were gonna let him fuck you?” Scott asks without really asking. He sounds angry and powerful.

Stiles swallows, not sure what to say. “I-” He stops, hesitating.

“So desperate for it you were gonna bend over like some back-alley slut?” Scott snarls.

Stiles blinks in shock, because his friend doesn’t talk like that, ever. He’s too nice, too respectful.

“You’re mine, Stiles.” Scott growls.

The teen gapes, lips working uselessly as he tries to figure out how to respond to that.

“Say it.” Scott orders.

Stiles stares over Scott’s shoulder, dumbstruck and slack-jawed. Scott growls warningly, pulling his head back and glaring. “Yeah. Yours. I’m yours.” Stiles stutters quickly.

Scott waits for a second, letting silence pass between them, and then he’s pressing Stiles’ down, pushing until he has the human kneeling on the alleyway floor. “Prove it.” Scott orders.

Stiles stares up at him, lost. “What?”

Scott tangles a hand in Stiles’ hair, holding him firmly. He reaches down, undoing his jeans with one hand and Stiles’ eyes widen.

“Whoa, Scott, what-?”

“Shut up.” Scott snarls, letting his cock spring free. It hovers, right at mouth level, and Stiles swallows, staring at his friend’s dick. It’s hard and tan, curving toward him and looking far too big.

Stiles can’t believe this. Scott wants him to suck him off. Stiles has never given a blowjob before and he certainly doesn’t want to start now. Scott doesn’t give him much of choice though. He pulls on the teen’s hair, tugging his face close and pushing up against his lips. Stiles resists, keeping his mouth firmly closed and letting out a noise of protest, but Scott growls, reaching down and pushing Stiles’ lips apart. The wolf shoves in carelessly, groaning as he slips into the warm cavity. And suddenly, just like that, Stiles finds his mouth full of Scott. His friend’s salty and thick on his tongue and Stiles whimpers, heart pounding in his chest and hands reaching up to grip at Scott’s thighs, trying to hold his friend back or push him away. It accomplishes nothing.

Scott starts to move, thrusting in and out of Stiles’ mouth. The human tries to keep up, but he doesn’t do a very good job, because the wolf’s frankly not giving him much room to move or take charge of the situation. He just has to keep his mouth open and let Scott use him for pleasure.

Stiles gags and his eyes water. He can feel the front of his underwear start to get wet as his cock throbs and leaks. His hands flex desperately as Scott presses into his throat and he grips at the wolf’s thighs, trying to slow him down.

Scott rests a palm against the wall, leaning forward and gasping as he fucks into Stiles’ mouth. The teen whimpers and struggles to breathe, letting noises out against the wolf’s dick. His scalp burns where Scott clutches at his hair and he lets out a mewl of pain. Drool and precum drip down his chin and he shudders, cock hanging heavy between his legs. Shit, he’s getting off on this. It makes him feel used and degraded and he fucking loves it. He moans around Scott, making the wolf snarl.

Scott growls, voice strained as he gets close. “Just for me. Belong here, just like this.”

Stiles keens, clutching desperately at Scott’s thighs and trying not to choke. When Scott comes, he doesn’t do it in Stiles’ mouth, he pulls back and comes all over his face. It drips between his lips and in streams down onto his shirt and Stiles pants, staring up at the wolf in surprise. His mouth tingles, feeling heavy, swollen, and bruised. He takes in desperate swallows of air, throat burning.

“You’re mine.” Scott repeats before letting Stiles go and stepping back. Stiles watches, speechless, as Scott does up his pants and walks away. He wants to call after him and ask what the fuck just happened, but he holds back, blinking wide eyes at his friend’s retreating back. Scott disappears and Stiles kneels on the ground, feeling totally lost. His dick gives an insistent twitch in his boxers.

“Fuck.” Stiles mutters, reaching down and palming himself. He’s so keyed up, he doesn’t even need to properly stroke himself. A couple of seconds of friction through his underwear has him coming, spraying into his boxers. He shudders and gulps, collapsing back against the wall. “Fuck.” He repeats breathlessly.

He pulls off his cum-stained t-shirt, using it to wipe off his face. He licks his lips, cringing at the taste of the thick, white liquid. Shrugging his long-sleeve plaid back on, he uses the wall to help pull himself back up. His legs shake underneath him as he makes his way back to his jeep.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

Stiles watches Scott warily the next morning at school. The werewolf isn’t acting any bit out of the ordinary. He greets Stiles with a friendly smile and goes about the day like he doesn’t even remember the night before. Stiles tries to respond to Scott in kind, but he’s edgy and uncertain. Scott asks him if he’s alright, dares him to say anything, and Stiles just mumbles that he’s fine and tries to be normal.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

Stiles never brings up the blow-job incident. He never goes back to Jungle either, and weeks go by with no real incident apart from the usual supernatural chaos that accompanies their lives. And then, lacrosse practice starts.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

It’s December and chilly. Stiles’ shivers in his uniform, holding his stick tightly as he watches the ball pass from one player to another.

The werewolves are dominating the field as per usual and Stiles is prepared to stand there, going through the motions, but then the ball somehow ends up in his direction. He catches it before he even realizes it and then he’s running across the field, scoring a goal on pure instinct. He thinks all his after-school activities have been good for his reflexes.

The team seems surprised. He gets some congratulations and someone even pats him on the butt. He frowns, looking back curiously. He can’t see who it was, but he thinks it must’ve been Greenberg. The guy has zero concept of personal space.

Stiles doesn’t think much about it. The practice ends, everyone goes to the locker room, and then Scott asks him to hang back. The wolf looks at him earnestly, saying he has something he needs to talk about, and Stiles looks into those pleading eyes and agrees.

The minute they’re alone, Scott’s whole demeanor changes. Gone is the boy-next-door act and Stiles finds himself facing up against a stern alpha wolf.

“Scott.” Stiles whispers.

“Someone touched you.” Scott snarls, pushing Stiles back into the lockers.

“Sounds like something you should take up with them.” Stiles says, trying for a joke.

Scott leans into him, inhaling his scent. “Do you want me to?” He asks, deadly serious.

Stiles blinks. “No, I…no, don’t.” Scott would tear them apart.

Scott growls. “Only I’m allowed to touch you.” He says, dropping a hand down to Stiles’ ass and squeezing, pulling Stiles’ closer.

“Yeah, Scott, of course.” Stiles agrees despite himself. He’s hoping if he placates Scott then the wolf will relax.

Scott lets out a rumble, pulling away, and Stiles thinks it’s over. “Turn around.” Scott orders.

“What?”

“Turn. Around.” Scott bites out.

Stiles hesitates, just for a moment, before he turns, lips trembling and stomach flipping. Scott shoves him forward, making him lean against the lockers. Stiles’ hands fall out in front of him, open-palmed to catch himself.

Stiles swallows when he feels his shorts and jock strap getting tugged down, exposing his ass. “Scott?” He asks.

“He touched you here.” Scott says, running his palms over Stiles’ cheeks. Scott’s weight disappears from Stiles’ back and then he feels hot breaths of air hitting his entrance.

Stiles swallows, licking his lips nervously. A rough, wet muscle pushes up against his hole and Stiles’ mouth falls open in shock. Scott licks and sucks and Stiles moans, eyelids fluttering closed.

“Oh.” He groans. His hole twitches and he feels that wetness again, that bizarre moisture that leaks out sometimes when he masturbates.

“Mine.” Scott says, pulling away. He stands up, pressing against Stiles’ back again. Stiles’ hips twitch back, questing and looking for more. Stiles lets out a groan of shock when Scott shoves three fingers into him, creating a sensation of too much at once. His body shakes and he tries to move away from the intrusion. Scott stops him with a hand on his throat, pulling Stiles back and working his fingers in and out, quick and rough. “Don’t fight it.” Scott whispers into his ear.

Stiles’ hole contracts, sucking in Scott’s fingers hungrily. The human whimpers, grabbing at Scott’s forearm as the hand on his throat squeezes tighter, making his breathes shallow and desperate. His other hand flies back, digging into Scott’s hip for support.

“Look at how much you want this. You’ve been begging for it for months.” Scott growls. It should be hammy and over the top, sounding awkward in Scott’s voice, but the wolf spouts the lines like they’re totally natural. Stiles can feel the power oozing off of him, and it’s terrifying how much it heats his blood. “You’re body knows who you belong to. Feel how wet you are for me?”

Stiles whines. He’s not a woman, he shouldn’t be wet like that at all. “What is that?” He gasps out, voice strained around the grip on his neck.

“You’re body’s getting ready for me.” Scott says, voice deep and guttural.

Stiles moans, shaking around Scott’s relentless fingers. He’s nearing the edge and his hips twitch back eagerly.

“No one else gets to touch you here.” Scott snarls. “This belongs to me.”

Stiles keens. “Scott, I’m gonna-” He’s interrupted when Scott rams into him impossibly harder, pounding over his prostate and filling him up in violent, rapid motions.

“Do it. I want everyone to know who you belong to.” Scott says. “Want everyone to smell how much you want this.”

Stiles comes, letting out broken sobs and trembling apart in Scott’s grasp. The wolf gives him a few moments to come down and then pulls away, exiting Stiles’ hole in a way that makes him hiss in pain.

“You should clean up before Finstock gets back.” Scott says, leaving Stiles alone in the locker room.

Stiles falls onto the bench, cringing at the pain that goes through his backside. He feels used even though he’s the one who came this time.

Scott’s toying with him, playing some sort of fucked up game that’s wreaking havoc with Stiles’ mental state. He feels trapped and confused, but some part of him is thriving on it, twisting with dark desire.

Stiles cleans up and showers, rubbing himself down obsessively. He spends the whole day paranoid that everyone’s going to smell cum on him. He sits down gingerly in class, feeling utterly humiliated when Isaac asks him if he’s okay. When he glances up, he doesn’t miss Scott’s smirk, and he’s starting to wonder if Scott’s really as innocent and unaware as he’s seemed for the past several weeks or if maybe that was just another part of the game.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

Scott touches him more. It’s not sexual, but it’s enough to keep him on edge. He’s constantly aware of his friend’s hand on his hips or his arms or his legs. They’re casual, gentle touches that could be accidental, but they’re not.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

They face down the latest threat. Everyone almost dies and Stiles sits in his jeep afterwards, exhausted. Scott sits in the passenger seat, watching Stiles with concern.

“You okay?” Scott asks.

Stiles frowns, staring out the window. “Peachy.” He mutters. Scott rests a hand on his shoulder and when Stiles looks over, he sees his friend staring at him earnestly. He can’t tell if Scott’s got some sort of Dissociative Identity Disorder or what, but he still seems like he cares, still seems like Scott more often than not. “It’s just…” Stiles licks his lips, looking away again. He wonders if he actually shouldn’t talk to Scott, but hell, he’s his best friend. “Don’t you sometimes wish you could just run away from it all? All the death and the near-death and the supernatural crap?”

It really wouldn’t be that hard to run away, Stiles thinks. He could start the car right now and just keep driving. He has the ability to leave, he just doesn’t have the nerve.

“Well, yeah.” Scott says. “I think we all wish that.”

Stiles nods, letting out a disappointed sigh. “I guess.” He says. “I just miss it sometimes – when it was just us.”

Scott stares at him for a moment then leans forward. Stiles isn’t sure what he expected, but a kiss wasn’t it. It’s not predatory or violent or claiming, it’s just sweet and gentle. Stiles frowns at first, confused, and then he leans into it, letting his eyes slip shut. He floods with warmth, letting out a soft sound as Scott deepens the kiss, working their lips together in moist caresses.

It’s their first kiss, Stiles realizes, and his heart stumbles in his chest. Scott breaks away and Stiles blinks his eyes open, feeling Scott’s fingers skirt over his flushed cheeks. “What was that for?” Stiles asks softly.

“I, uh, just wanted to kiss you.” Scott says, staring down at his lips with a sort of awe.

“Oh. Great.” Stiles mutters. He drives Scott home and they don’t talk about it.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

Derek’s the one who figures it out eventually. He must smell it or notice something in their interactions, because he confronts Scott rather roughly after a pack meeting.

Stiles watches, surprised, as Derek slams Scott back against one of the walls. “You claimed him?!” He says.

“Let go.” Scott growls, eyes flashing. Derek steps back reluctantly.

“Claim? What are you talking about?” Stiles asks.

Derek explains about werewolf mates and claiming. It’s hard to process it all, but what Stiles gets out of it is that the changes in his body and the way he hungers for Scott all break down to one thing – he’s Scott’s mate. What that entails, Stiles has no idea, but it’s scary enough that he’s fleeing back to the Stilinski household and holing himself up in his room.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

Stiles ignores all of Scott’s calls.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

After a week of Stiles ignoring Scott, his friend finally shows up at the house. He pleads with Stiles, asking for a chance to explain. They sit down on the bed and Scott tells him it was an accident, claims he didn’t know what he was doing, and apologizes until he’s blue in the face. He tells him he loves him and he’ll do anything he can to make it right.

Stiles sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. Scott tells him he looks peaky and asks him when the last time he ate was. Stiles rolls his eyes and Scott runs down to the kitchen to get him a snack. Stiles thinks he’s just looking for a reason to give Stiles some space. Or he’s trying to get some space for himself so he can prepare another speech.

In the silence of his room, Stiles tries to make sense of everything. He still wants Scott in his life, but he’s not sure if he can deal with all of this. Scott seems so sincere, though. So lost. Stiles thinks he’ll set some ground rules, the first one being that Scott has to work out whatever personality issues he seems to be struggling with.

Scott returns to the room, giving Stiles a glass of juice. Stiles snorts.

“I’m not five.” He mutters.

Scott shrugs sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted.” He admits. “Look, Stiles, I don’t know what’s happening to me or you or us, but…I haven’t been able to get you out of my head for months. Even before this whole alpha thing, I wanted you. I hate how this turned out, but I’m gonna make this right.” He promises.

Stiles isn’t sure what to say, so he takes a sip of the juice. He swallows, staring down at the glass. “Something’s wrong with you, Scott.” He says. “You remember when you were feral?”

Scott nods.

“You’re like that, sometimes. You just…it’s like you’re a totally different person.”

Scott frowns, silent as he takes that in. “It’s me, Stiles.” He finally says. “I swear, it’s still me. I just want to take care of you.”

“Funny way of doing that.” Stiles mutters.

“Can you just drink your juice?” Scott says. “You look pale.”

“I’m white, that’s kind of the point.” Stiles says, but he drinks the juice anyway. “You happy?” He asks, showing his friend the empty glass.

“Yes.” Scott says. “Let’s go out for dinner.”

“Like a date?” Stiles asks, surprised.

“Yeah, a date.” Scott agrees. “We’ll start this off right, take it slow.”

“I don’t know, dude.” Stiles says.

“Please?”

Stiles studies his friend, sighing. “Fine.” He says, standing up. He blinks, the world spinning a little as he takes a step forward. Spots dance in front of his eyes and he stumbles, brows furrowing in confusion. He looks up at Scott, who’s watching him with calm, expectant eyes. His facial expression is harder, distant, the look of a predator. Stiles glances back down at the glass and groans. “You drugged me.” He says, disbelieving and dizzy.

Scott doesn’t answer him, or if he does, Stiles doesn’t process it. He falls to the floor, blacking out.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

Stiles wakes up smelling dirt and must. He blinks his eyes open slowly. The lighting is dim and he can’t quite make out his surroundings at first. It’s some underground burrow. He’s settled on a mattress and he sees more furniture around the burrow – a table, some chairs. There’s even a cooler.

Scott sits at the table, watching Stiles.

“Scott, what-” Stiles starts. “Where the hell are we?”

“It’s our den.” Scott says, getting up and walking over to him. He kneels down on the bed, putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder to keep him from moving away.

“You fucking kidnapped me?” Stiles says. That’s one thing he didn’t expect from Scott, even after all that his friend’s done.

“No, I brought you home.” Scott insists.

“Home? Scott, this is a hole in the ground. My home’s where you took me from after you drugged me.” Stiles says. Scott looks so lost and Stiles stares at him pleadingly.

“I had to. You wouldn’t listen to me.” Scott says. “I’m just trying to give you what you want.”

“What I want?”

Scott presses closer. “You said you wished it was just the two of us. I made it possible. I built this, just for us.”

Stiles stares at his friend in disbelief. “Scott, I meant like it was before all the werewolf stuff. I didn’t want it like this.”

“This is better.” Scott says, pushing Stiles back into the mattress and nuzzling into his neck. “We could get separated before. Now nothing can come between us. It’ll just be you and me forever.”

Stiles stares at the ceiling with wide eyes.

“Get some rest. The moon will be up soon. I’ll claim you again.” Scott promises. “I know you’ve been dreaming about it. I’ll give you everything you want, Stiles, I promise.”

Stiles holds back a frightened whimper.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

Scott does claim him that night. Moonlight comes in, thin and faded through a crack in the roof above, and Stiles can feel his body heat in anticipation. He knows he shouldn’t want it, and part of him is too terrified to, but he still reacts when Scott leans into him, pulling his clothes off.

Stiles tries to pull away and fight, but he’s trapped. He doesn’t even know if they’re in Beacon Hills anymore, and he knows if he’s lucky enough to find the exit to this damn burrow, he still can’t outrun Scott once he’s outside.

Scott strips down, eyes going red and mouth opening on pants and gasps as he presses down into Stiles, running fangs along his neck. Stiles’ hole twitches, leaking, and his cock hardens between them. Scott growls in satisfaction, pushing Stiles’ legs apart and sliding inside.

The teen’s back bows, and he stares up at Scott in shock. The wolf growls, rutting into him. His clawed hands push between Stiles and the mattress so he can clutch at his friend’s shoulder blades while he fucks him hard and fast.

Stiles mewls in protest at the punishing rhythm. His eyes clench shut and he grabs Scott’s shoulders, quivering beneath the wolf.

“Mine.” Scott growls and Stiles sobs, realizing how true that is.

It’s rough and primal, like that first full moon when Scott took him. Stiles gets off on it, feeling something in him writhe in satisfaction. It’s not over when he comes. Scott turns him around, holding his head into the bed and fucking into him from behind. Stiles groans, digging his fingers into the mattress.

“Gonna knot you.” Scott snarls, slamming into Stiles’ ass.

“What?” Stiles gasps, bewildered. Scott doesn’t answer him.

The wolf’s cock batters against Stiles’ prostate, drawing him closer to a second orgasm. Stiles feels something – a lump – drag against his rim on each thrust, and he moans, hips moving back into it despite himself. The lump grows bigger, swelling until Scott’s trapped inside. The wolf gives short, shallow thrusts, pulling tight on his hole, and Stiles quivers. Scott’s up against his prostate like this, pressing insistently and making Stiles tremble.

Scott rocks, growling and digging his teeth into Stiles’ neck. The teen comes with a cry, clenching around the wolf. Scott keeps going, moving inside him and dragging Stiles’ orgasm out.

Stiles sobs, going limp in Scott’s grip. The wolf thrusts into him, huffing and panting as he comes, shooting long streams into the teen. Stiles gasps against the bedding, staring ahead of him with wide eyes and shaking. He’s getting filled up, so full, and Scott’s still coming.

“Oh. _Oh.”_ Stiles moans. He’s stuffed and he can feel the burn of a bite on his neck.

Scott nips at his shoulder, giving him a moment, and then Stiles is shifted backwards, seated on Scott’s lap as the wolf sits back against the den wall. Stiles thinks they’re about to cuddle, but then Scott’s holding him around his ribs and bouncing him up and down on his still-knotted cock.

Stiles shudders, over-sensitized. “Not – not again.” Stiles gasps.

Scott snarls, moving his hips up into Stiles. “Gonna make you pregnant.” Scott says and Stiles lets out a confused whine. It’s weird dirty-talk that he doesn’t quite understand, but it still turns him on.

Stiles moans, clutching at Scott’s forearms.

“Fill you till you can’t move.” Scott groans.

Stiles shakes, arching his head back. Scott’s breath hits the side of his neck. Stiles’ dick throbs and his hole twitches around Scott’s swollen cock. He’s weak and over-pleasured, shuddering in Scott’s grip and twitching his hips back shallowly as Scott moves him up and down, creating a constant motion against sensitive nerves.

Stiles spills over the edge an impossible third time, milking Scott’s own orgasm out of him. Stiles collapses back, huffing and dizzy. He’s pliant with exhaustion and he’s so full with cum he thinks he’ll be leaking for a week.  

Scott growls in satisfaction, petting and caressing Stiles. He settles them onto their sides on the bed and curls around Stiles. His knot stays locked in the whole time and Stiles feels the cum shift, sloshing inside of him.

He huffs and pants, lulled to sleep by Scott’s gentle touches.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

Scott’s knot is still in him the next morning and Scott starts the day by fucking into him gentle and slow. Stiles hates how much he loves it.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

There’s no talking sense into Scott. Stiles tries, over and over again. Days pass and he struggles to keep track of them inside the world of the den. They all blend together despite his efforts and slowly the fight starts to leave him.

~`*`~ ~`*`~ ~`*`~

Stiles isn’t sure how long he’s down there before he starts to get used to it. It must be weeks, at least. Months, more likely.

Scott keeps him stuffed almost constantly, fucks into him with desperate, punishing ruts. He knots him, keeps his cum locked in until Stiles’ belly is swollen and he can feel it sloshing with every movement. Scott keeps fucking him even after that, thrusting in slowly with his knot tugging at Stiles’ abused hole. It hurts, at first, makes him feel uncomfortable and bloated as the pool of liquid moves inside of him. Even when he moans in discomfort, Scott keeps going, telling him how good he is and how much his body wants it. Stiles can’t deny that. He can’t even form the words to, as he comes hard and forcefully, passing out afterwards.

Scott leaves sometimes, to run into town and get supplies. They’re not in Beacon Hills, Stiles figures out, or else someone would’ve noticed Scott’s infrequent trips back home.

Sometimes Scott’s gone for hours and Stiles doesn’t know where he goes. He’s relieved at first for the time apart. He breaks after a while, though, starts to get dependent, and now, by the time Scott comes back he’s begging for the wolf’s cock, arching his ass against him and pleading to get filled up again. Scott always appeases him, fucking him into the floor or against the wall, ruthless and primal. Stiles lives for it.

He’s Scott’s, completely and utterly. He’s always been Scott’s, he realizes, and now he’ll only ever be Scott’s. This is right where he belongs and it’s fulfilling in its own way. It has to be, because it’ll be like this forever and nothing he or anyone else does is going to change that.

“Mine.” Scott snarls into the back of his neck and Stiles nods.

“Yours.” He agrees.


End file.
